Unlucky Strikes
by krabbe-fiske
Summary: DEADLIEST CATCH - On the Northwestern, the pranks are as serious as the fishing. This is an instance where the prank goes too far. Warning bad language. COMPLETE!


**Disclaimer: **Do not own F/V Northwestern, or her crew, sadly. This contains bad language, you have been warned! **REMEMBER TO READ AND REVIEW!  
**

Unlucky Strikes

"Oh, that would be priceless, and stupid as hell," Edgar said, laughing, while seated at the wrap around galley table with Jake, Matt and Nick. Norman had taken the initiative, while the Northwestern was docked in St. Paul for offload, to go do the mail run. Coming in through the ready room with the sailcloth mail bag slung over his shoulder, Norman perked up to the conversation.

"Do I even want to know?" Norman asked as he walked into the galley and hefted the bag onto the table. Edgar and Matt started to lift mail and care packages from the sack and separated them depending on who they were addressed to.

"Ed's up to no good," Nick commented as he looked through his small pile of letters.

"As usual," Matt added, as he, too, rifled though his own personal stack of mail.

With everyone's mail doled out, Edgar was left with Sig's mail and care packages in the center of the table. Clasping his palms together and rubbing them, he picked out the largest brown box. Lifting it to his ear, he shook it, hearing the contents rattle about. By the marker scrawled letters on the top, he knew it was a fan's gift. Placing it back on the table, he caught Jake's eye across from him.

"Here you go, Junior," Edgar stated, shoving the package towards him. With a giddy anxiousness and a wild smile, Jake took hold of the package and drew it closer to him, his eyes cast down, gazing at the scribbled address on the top, briefly noting the crudely-drawn crab in the far upper right corner. Furrowing his brow at the pause, Edgar pulled his knife from his belt and offered it to the greenhorn.

"Backing out isn't an option. It's prank time; pick wisely," Edgar prodded him.

Jake snapped out a quick "Roger" as he used the offered knife to open the box. Two large packages of Kit Kats came out first, followed by a plush crab. Blinking in surprise, Jake extracted the last item in the box. Edgar, upon first sight of the object, started laughing uncontrollably. Grinning from ear to ear, he held up the item and showed it off to the rest of the crew. It was a white box of candy cigarettes, with the name 'Lucky Strikes' printed on the front and back. A small picture of a cowboy, on horseback and armed with a lasso, was under the title.

"Speak of the devil. That is too cool. Someone else has a demented mind just like me." Edgar's laughter subsided, and he pointed to the wheelhouse stairs across the room. "Duty calls. Do your worst."

Jake mock saluted Edgar and slid out from behind the galley table, crossing the room and taking the stairs two at a time. Once in the wheelhouse, he scanned the control table, looking for their captain's cigarettes. With his heart hammering against his rib cage, his fingers fumbled with the Marlboro box as he extracted all the sticks. Swapping them into the 'Lucky Strikes' box, he inserted the candy ones into the Marlboro box and closed it, placing it back in the same spot. Shoving the fake box containing the real cigs into his jacket pocket, Jake froze in shock as he caught movement though the wheelhouse glass out of the corner of his eye. Coming down the docks was Sig, fish ticket in hand, determination set on his features. Alarmed, Jake scrambled out of the wheelhouse, nearly tripping down the stairs in his rush. His eyes flew to the galley table, seeing that the guys had taken care of the evidence. Sighing with relief, Jake joined Matt in the ready room to gear up to help the others on deck.

It had taken them a few hours' steam to reach Sig's chosen fishing grounds, but once there, they were busy baiting and dropping like crazy, carpet bombing the area. Up in the wheelhouse, Sig was pulling another all-nighter, pushing the men as usual. Rubbing a callused palm across his weary face, Sig let out a yawn and tiredly reached for his pack of smokes. Extracting one without looking, he shoved it between his thin lips with his right hand; with his left, he lifted his lighter. Flicking the Zippo to life, he paused, unaccustomed to the unfamiliar taste. His tongue registered the sweet sugar, thankfully before he could sustain painful sugar burns. With his temper flaring, he narrowed his eyes, plucked the candy cigarette from his mouth, tossed it onto the control board, and reached up to turn the radio on and disengage the handset.

"I don't have fucking time for fucking childish fucking games. I'll give you three fucking minutes to fess up, or I'm fucking coming down there. Fuck that, I'm fucking coming down there right fucking now," Sig's voice roared over the hailer, causing five bodies to halt work production and swivel their heads towards the wheelhouse. Edgar, stationed on the forward side of the pot, looked over at the grief-stricken face of Jake, on the aft side. All color had washed from his face, and the young man swallowed hard, his eyes widening, as the hatch to the galley burst open. Sig appeared on deck, hands balled into tight fists at his sides, face flushed red with anger, his nostrils flaring with each ragged breath. He simply raised an arm and pointed a callused, stubby-nailed finger towards Edgar.

"You. Now. No fucking questions," Sig barked, a rough growl hitching his voice.

Edgar gave a loose nod and complied, gesturing Matt over to take his spot as he crossed the deck, his expression blank. Jake's head zipped back and forth from Sig to Edgar, his eyes wide with fear. _I can't let him take the blame for this. I just can't. _Matt noticed the panic on the young man's face and shook his head, mouthing the word 'no'. Jake didn't take the bait and scurried out from beside the pot, stopping when he was standing in the middle of the deck. By that time, Edgar was a foot from the seething skipper, and Jake noticed Sig's fiery eyes were trained on him now.

"Edgar isn't to blame. I did it," Jake shouted out over the sounds of the waves slapping the sides of the Northwestern.

Sig cocked his head to the side, setting his jaw. Edgar gave him a one-shoulder shrug.

Blinking rapidly, and with a rough, irritated shake of his head, Sig opened his mouth to speak. "Fine. You, inside." To Edgar, he lowered his voice to a hiss. "You stay the fuck here."

Edgar nodded and watched as Jake passed both of them, hanging his head as he entered the galley hatch and paused in the ready room. Edgar watched, with growing concern, as Sig turned, his mouth a strained tight line, followed after Jake, and closed the hatch after himself.

"Let me ... explain," Jake's shaky, uneven voice pleaded, his hands up, palms out in surrender. His breathing was rushed, and his body trembled.

Spotting that, Sig reeled back his anger. Letting out a long, even breath, he nodded. "I know, Edgar put you up to it, right?" he stated, dropping his eyes from Jake's face to concentrate on his upper body. Jake jumped when Sig slapped his hands at his sides in frustration. "Where the fuck are they?" he demanded.

Jake had his hands deep in the pockets of his rain gear, a hand curled around the stolen box of Marlboros. He had remembered to switch them out of his other jacket.

"Empty your pockets. Now," Sig demanded, in a low, threatening voice.

Jake did as he was told, first starting with the pockets of his rain pants, and then his jacket. In a shaking palm, he presented the cigarettes in the dummy, 'Lucky Strikes' box. Sig's eyes ticked down to the offer, then back up to the boy's face. Snatching it from Jake, he flipped the top open and pulled out a single stick to examine it before jamming it between his lips. He shook his head in silence at Jake, and looked up toward the wheelhouse above.

"Get back on deck. I'm not fucking done with you."

With that said, Sig stormed out of the ready room and up the wheelhouse stairs to reclaim his chair. Throwing the _Northwestern _into gear, he reached down and snatched up the Zippo. The tip ignited, and he tossed the lighter back to the control table. With his right hand on the throttle control, his left reached up, the radio beeped to life, and he detached the handset.

"The rest of this fucking trip will be done strictly old school. You all have Jake and Edgar to thank," Sig barked into the hailer, exhaling smoke out of his nose as he spoke.

Replacing the handset, he took another long drag, and peered out at the sea. Shifting slightly in his chair, he turned his head to the left and gazed into the crew monitor. He observed the crew pulling the totes into view of the screen, leaving them next to the sorting table. Sig felt his nerves calm with every passing second. Finally getting a hand on a cigarette was what his stressed mind needed. Taking his eyes from the monitor, he gave his full attention back to the Bering Sea, lowering his eyes a moment as he flicked his cigarette over the ash tray. An inch from the tray was the forgotten candy cig. Pulling the smoke from his lips, he replaced it with that of the candy. Catching it in his teeth, he broke it in two and silently chewed on it.


End file.
